He was naked again except for his apron, and she didn’t want to think about what the undressing was all about. But from the way he had barely acknowledged her, she knew he wouldn’t let her survive. No way. Not after she’d seen his face. The same went for Zoe. They would be able to give the police a very detailed description of him, from the nose that appeared to have been broken at least once, to his tall, muscular build, and the weird tattoo of a mountain and a bleeding heart on one shoulder. He also had a mole on the cheek of his right buttock. She had memorized these features, vowing to remember every detail of the dickwad’s face and body, just in case she ever got the chance to identify him for the police.

Oh, God, would that ever happen?

Much as she hated to admit it, he was an okay-looking dude. Although she considered him repulsive as hell, some might find him attractive. Fit and strong and cold as ice.

It was his eyes that really changed his appearance. Deep-set beneath heavy brows, they were flat and nearly colorless. Like a reptile’s eyes.

Now, of course, he had some scratches on his throat, compliments of Zoe.

He wasn’t quiet, but at least he no longer sang the birthday song, a tune she used to love and now would hate for the rest of her life—however long that was going to be. He kept rambling about someone named Myra. His wife? Girlfriend? Who would be involved with such an effin’ freak? Whoever this Myra person was, she really pissed him off. His muttering was so disjointed that Chloe suspected he didn’t even know he was talking.

The lunatic was just weird, weird, weird.

Even more so, as he snapped up the phone and said, “Yeah?” as if he’d heard it ring when she hadn’t heard anything, not even the telltale rattle of a phone on mute humming across the table. What the hell? God, maybe the guy was psychic as well as psychotic or maybe he was just plain nuts. “I know,” he said, sounding almost disgusted. “I just need a little more time . . . I already told you. I’ll get her.”

Chloe strained to hear, but the other end of the conversation was muted as the phone was pressed tightly to his ear. She couldn’t catch even the tiniest sound to indicate what the person on the other end of the phone sounded like.

“Myra, give it a rest. Will you? Have a little faith.”

Myra. The only one who ever communicated with him.

Again he paused and this time when he hung up, he tossed the phone aside and muttered, “Bitch!” Geez, the guy was off the rails, worse than she’d first thought.